


Who Decides What's Real?

by Salomonderiel



Series: All Just A Bunch Of Matter [2]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salomonderiel/pseuds/Salomonderiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DRNs were created to be as human as possible. To think for themselves, to make decisions according to morality, and to feel as humans do. Theoretically, they should act and respond as any human would, and experience emotions in much the same way.</p><p>But there's always going to be that question - that doubt - because they're still closer to MXs than humans. Still made of metal and wires than chemicals and neural synapses. </p><p>How much, really, can you feel, when a synthetic soul is, after all, still only synthetic?</p><p>[Spoilers for episode 9, 'Unbound'. And can very much be read as a stand-alone fic, only in a series in that it's set in the same 'verse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Decides What's Real?

**Author's Note:**

> I got a lot of positivity on the previous fic - a lot more hits than I expected, thanks for that! - so decided to continue along the same vein, of the question of how valid a relationship with an android would be considered. If this fic is liked just as much, I might mate more of a series arc rather than just stand-alone fics in a 'verse of sorts.
> 
> This can possibly be seen as a tag to episode 9, I guess.

Dorian was sat at a work station, doing the exact same thing that everyone around him was doing. Checking all cameras, all monitoring stations, banks, cash points, shops, everything, just to find a trace of Nigel Vaughn and the technology he’d stolen. Just like everyone else, he was drawing up a blank. Unlike everyone else, however, his gaze kept straying to the booth which they had all thought had held the doctor while the strike team dealt with the XRN. The last place he’d been seen, before he’d vanished.

The glances were too small, to slight for anyone to notice.

Except, John noticed the first time he did it. The eleventh time, and he pushed himself up from his own workstation and walked to Dorian’s side.

“Absent fathers,” he said, leaning back against the side of Dorian’s desk and crossing his arms. “You’re not the first, won’t be the last.”

Dorian broke his gaze on the screens, and looked up at John, that crease on his forehead as he frowned, concerned about something. It made John’s stomach clench slightly just to see it, too many bad memories linked with the image. Dorian smiling was a much more preferable sight. “Vaughn wasn’t a father _figure_ to me, John, just a creator. I don’t feel his loss like a child would feel the loss of a parent.”

“Then what’s that little crease there for,” John asked, pointing a finger. The move was awkward, and aborted move to brush his finger over Dorian’s brow, attempt to smooth it out, but he remembered at the last second how they were in the precinct, not the safety of his room back home.

There was a moment while Dorian considered John’s question, before he smiled, and the crease disappeared. “It’s nothing, John,” voice as calm as ever. Dorian reached out a hand, resting it on the edge of the table, only a few inches from John’s. As close as they could get to holding hands while in a public area. “Nothing you need to trouble yourself over.”

John nodded slowly, eyebrows raised. “Sure,” he said slowly, drawing the syllables out with smirk. “You know I don’t believe you, right?”

“And I hope that you also know that I don’t care,” Dorian replied with a matching smirk, giving John one last smug look before turning back to the computer screens.

Bowing his head to hide his smile, John paused to consider his options. Eventually, he settled for leaning over to press the off-switch for Dorian’s monitor.

The sight of the android clenching his jaw with anger as he continued to stare at empty space was quite possibly the funniest thing John had seen all week. “I’m going to assume that there was a logical explanation for you doing that, John. Please explain _quickly_.”

“You’ve been working too hard, we’re having a coffee break,” John told him, pushing himself to his feet and patting Dorian on the back as an instruction to move. “Come on. The caffeine will do you good.”

Sounding very long-suffering, Dorian rose to his feet and stared John down. “I realise we’ve only been partners for several _months_ now, but I feel you really should have learnt by this stage that I’m an _android_ , John. As in, run on battery power, not food.”

“Both a type of chemical power, right?”

Dorian’s look of annoyance morphed into complete bemusement. “I honestly don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Feeling victorious, John just grinned, and pat Dorian on the shoulder again. “You don’t have to. Just keep that pretty mouth shut and follow me to the coffee machine.” With a smirk, he turned, complete faith that Dorian would follow him.

“You realise you just referred to my mouth as ‘pretty’, right? That I now have a permanent recording of that in my data banks?” And yet, and true enough, John could still hear Dorian’s soft footsteps as he followed him out of the bustling office space, into the emptier corridors and finally the rec room.

The only person in there was a junior analyst, barely looked old enough to be out of school, who was sat in a chair and scoffing down a sugar rush of chocolate bourbons and a can of Monster. Well aware that Dorian was still supporting that bemused look which suited him so well, John comfortably settled himself against the counter and stared the junior guy down. A minute in, he was trying to avoid John’s gaze and shifting awkwardly. Two minutes, and he was chugging his energy drink as quickly as he could, which probably had many health issues, but who cared, when three minutes in he was fleeing the scene like it was on fire.

“I guess having a poor reputation has some benefits,” John muttered, following the guy to door and shutting it. His hand moved to where a lock would be, to find nothing. Thinking, he scanned the room, and saw the table. “Here, help me with this,” he asked, and, though Dorian clearly looked like he wanted to report John for psychiatric help, he obediently assisted in carrying the table to the door, effectively locking anyone else out.

“I know you don’t particularly like having anyone take your food, John, but I think you’re going to drastic and unnecessary lengths to-”

“Shut up, you stupid android,” John said absently, massaging his hands to remove the indents the table edge had left as he turned to face Dorian. “We’re safe, now, yeah?” One last look at the door, and John stepped forwards, lightly brushing his thumb over the place where that worried crease had been minutes before. “So tell me?”

In the space of a second, Dorian went from confused yet amused to complete shut-down, showing about as much emotion as an MX. He reached up to lift John’s thumb from his skin, or what passed as skin, but, surprisingly, kept hold of his hand. “I’d rather not,” he said, voice toneless. “I’d rather not concern you as well.”

“You’re concerning me now, Dorian,” John insisted, tightening his grip, stepping closer. “Look, I might be able to help.”

“You might not,” Dorian countered.

“Yeah, well, if there’s a chance, that’s all I care about,” John muttered, other hand reaching up to rest against the side of Dorian’s blank face, the tight hold his partner was keeping on his hand the only sign that he was registering, _feeling_ anything right then. “Just – c’mon, give me a go, man.”

Dorian blinked. “I had more things I wanted to ask him,” he confessed, and that frown, that one crease that made something in John’s chest clench appearing again.

“For example?” John asked, preparing himself for the inevitable – and stupid, in his opinion – ‘why her and why not me’ outpouring of fears.

Dorian’s eyes flickered to the side, before he answered. “For example, on how realistic DRN emotion can be and whether we have the capacity to love.”

John felt like his chest had caved in. His hands fell limp, falling from Dorian’s face and letting go of his hand. “Jeez, just that?” he said, scoffing and turning away, heading to the coffee maker for something to do. “I thought it was something _serious_ , wow, you actually had me worried there-”

“John-”

“Didn’t think you’d concern yourself over trivialities like that,” John continued, pressing buttons at random and with too much force, “why bother, just ask Rudy, or, you know, _don’t-_ ”

“John, please-”

“-why did you even have to think about it, because this was going to be a _thing_ , one of those things where I didn’t ask and you didn’t say and, hey, look at that, it never comes up and we never have to worry about it-”

Hands grabbed at his shoulder and spun him round with more force than he could fight against, and suddenly he was so close to Dorian, barely inches away and that was closer than he wanted to be just then, because if he was going to be honest to himself, just _once_ , then – it hurt.

“But I know that you have been worrying about it, John,” Dorian said, voice soft and gentle eyes staring straight into his, no matter how hard he tried to look away. “I know you’ve been worrying. I didn’t want you to worry. I was going to get an answer for you, so you’d know. We’d know. And that was what concerned me, the possibility that...”

“That’d we’d never know,” John finished for him, in subdued tones. He swallowed, looked to the side once more to gather himself before putting on a smile, reaching up a finger to lightly hit Dorian’s cheek and say, “Hey, don’t concern yourself over it. I’ve had worse relationships, am I right? And, hey, yeah, what’s the saying, a dirty dishwasher’s better than none?”

Dorian smiled at that, one eyebrow raised, hands still holding John in place. “Did... was that you comparing me to a dishwasher?”

John smiled. “It’s a possibility.”

“I think I preferred ‘happy toaster’,” Dorian said sardonically.

John snorted and made to step away, get the bit of space he needed right then, but before he could move Dorian’s hands moved from his shoulders to his chin, tilting his head up so Dorian could press their lips together.

Reflex, John reached up to hold Dorian’s head, slipped an arm around his waist, and kissed back, mouth opening just enough, tilting his head to press closer. He could relax into this, and perhaps he could ignore the fear that he was hopelessly lost to something that was physically incapable of loving him back for long enough to eventually forget about it all together.

One last press of the slightly firmer synthetic lips against his own, fingers brushing through his hair before Dorian let him go. “If it counts for anything,” Dorian said, tilting his head slightly, blue lights silently flashing on the side of his face as he smiled and took in the sight of John, “then I hope you know that I, personally, believe that DRNs are capable of the full range of human emotion.” Smiling wider, Dorian reached up to brush down what was presumably some of John’s hair that had been brushed out of place. “Including love.”

Sometimes, hope was a good thing. Meaning, it was probably going to come round and bite him in the ass later, but for now, well.

John took Dorian’s hand back again. “Yeah, I think it counts.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked, please kudos! Even better, leave a li'l note saying what you liked. Also, if you saw any britishisms, please tell me, so I can correct that asap. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
